Santa, Sir

First Day of Christmas Hell

The aroma of pine and artificial snow assaulted my senses the moment I stepped inside Twin Oaks Mall. Christmas carols, tinny and relentless, echoed from every speaker. Ugh! Bah humbug! However, the dream, vivid and unsettling, still clung to me like a second skin. Every brush of a coat sleeve, every distant laugh, felt charged with the phantom heat of Ronan's touch. My skin still prickled with the memory of his teeth on my neck, the rasp of his beard against my jaw.

I adjusted the green tunic, the fabric coarse against my skin. The green tights itched. They clung too tightly, leaving little to the imagination, the hem of my dress barely covering my upper thigh. My reflection in a shop window showed a gnome-like figure, complete with a ridiculous pointed hat that kept sliding over my eyes. Worst. Elf. Ever. The thought, usually delivered with a bitter laugh, now felt heavy, laced with an unfamiliar tremor of anticipation.

Finding the 'North Pole' was easy enough. A larger-than-life sleigh, molded from glitter-encrusted plastic, dominated the main concourse. Beneath a canopy of fake icicles, a red velvet throne sat empty. Children, eyes wide with wonder, pulled at their parents' hands. Parents, burdened with shopping bags, looked harried. And then I saw him.

Ronan Rourke.

He wasn't in the full Santa regalia yet, just the red velvet jacket, unbuttoned, over a crisp white shirt. A half-mask of white beard covered his jawline, but his eyes—those dark, knowing eyes—were unmistakable. From his secluded spot, his eyes scanned the bustling crowd, missing nothing, then snagged on me. A slow, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

The dream surged, a wave of heat washing through me. Oh, no! I must have imagined it. That dream couldn't have meant anything, could it have?”

He straightened, running a hand through his already perfectly styled dark hair before he put his wig in place. "Well, look what Rudolph dragged in," Ronan's voice, a low rumble, cut through the jingle bells and carols. He gestured with a dismissive flick of his hand towards the elf uniform. "You wear it well, Katie. Like it was made for you."

My cheeks warmed, and I just reacted. Maybe it was all of the pomp and circumstance to make this area of the mall seem like a winter wonderland, or maybe it was my need to distract myself from the naughty thoughts flooding my mind. "The tights are a crime against humanity, Santa. And this hat makes me feel like I should be mining for diamonds."

His laugh was a deep, rich sound, drawing the attention of a nearby mother, who quickly herded her child away from where we were secluded. "A diamond in the rough, perhaps. But a necessary evil. We have standards here, even for our newest recruits." He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over my outfit, lingering on my legs. "Though, I admit, the tights have a certain… appeal."

I swallowed, the air suddenly thick. "So, what exactly does a diamond-mining, crime-committing elf do around here?"

"Oh, the usual." He leaned against the metal sleigh, his posture deceptively casual. "You'll guide the little darlings, make sure they don't pull off Santa's beard, and remind them to smile. The important things that make this special and real for them. I spared no expense. The sleigh is real, and while the children are present, our Christmas spirit must be real as well.” His eyes, however, held a different message. "And you'll learn the rules, Katie. Every single one of them. The unwritten ones, especially."

A shiver traced its way down my spine. "The unwritten rules? Are these the ones that involve being over Santa's knee?" I joked in an effort to deflect. Sarcasm is my defense mechanism.

His smile widened, a flash of white against the dark beard, before he put the white one in place. "Perhaps. But let's start with something more immediate. The first rule, little elf, is obedience. When Santa speaks, his elves listen." He pointed to a small wooden stool near the throne. "Sit."

I looked at the area. We were still shrouded from prying eyes because the curtain hadn't been lifted yet. However, I hesitated for a fraction of a second. The word, flat and unyielding, was a direct echo of the dream. My defiant nature bristled, but the memory of how that dream had ended—a brutal thrust, a shattering climax—made my legs move before my brain could object. I perched on the stool, acutely aware of his eyes on me.

"Good girl," he murmured, the words a caress that curled in my stomach. "Now, the second rule: you anticipate Santa's needs. He wants comfort; you bring a cushion. He wants quiet; you shush the rowdy ones. He wants… attention, you provide it." He walked towards the throne, his presence dominating the space.

"Sounds less like an elf and more like a personal assistant," I countered, trying to inject some levity into my voice, though my heart beat a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

He settled onto the throne, the seat groaning slightly under his weight. He looked massive, formidable, even in the ridiculous suit. "And what precisely is wrong with being a personal assistant to the greatest purveyor of joy in the known universe?" He reached out, his gloved hand resting on the armrest. "Unless you prefer to think of it as serving your master, perhaps?"

My breath hitched. "Master? You really lean into the whole 'Bad Santa' vibe, don't you?"

"Only when an elf inspires me." His gaze intensified, stripping away the layers of tinsel and glitter, finding the raw nerve beneath. "And you, Katie, are quite the inspiration." He inclined his head slightly. "Now, once the curtain is lifted, children will start arriving soon. Your first task is to make sure they approach Santa with proper reverence. No running, no shouting. Controlled chaos."

He watched me, an unspoken challenge in his eyes. He expected me to fail, to balk, to question. And a part of me, the part that had rebelled against Chad's insidious control, wanted to do just that. But another part, the part still buzzing from the dream, yearned to see what happened when I didn't. "Understood, Santa," I replied, my voice steadier than I expected. "Reverence. Controlled chaos."

He nodded, a faint curve to his lips. "Excellent. Let's see how well you follow the rules, little elf." He leaned back, his eyes closing for a moment, a monarch surveying his dominion.

Children began to trickle in, their excited squeals a sharp contrast to the silent battle brewing between Ronan and me. I directed a small boy with a sticky lollipop towards the waiting area, my movements stiff, each action a conscious effort. Every time I glanced at Ronan, his eyes were on me, observing, assessing. He was playing a game, and I was, unknowingly, already a piece on his board.

A little girl in a sparkly dress burst through the velvet ropes, making a beeline for the throne. Her mother, flustered, chased after her. "Oh, no, sweetie, wait for your turn!" the mother pleaded.

Before I could react, Ronan's voice boomed, sharp and clear. "Elf!" My head snapped towards him. His eyes, now wide and commanding, pinned me in place. "Is this how we show reverence to Santa?" he questioned, his voice low, but carrying enough authority to make the child freeze. "Chaos, Elf. This is chaos."

A flush crept up my neck. "No, Santa. My apologies."

"Then fix it," he commanded, his gaze never leaving mine. "Show me you understand the rules. Show me you can impose order."

I walked towards the little girl, a newfound determination hardening my features. I knelt, meeting her gaze. "Hello there, little one. Santa would love to see you, but we need to wait for our turn, just like everyone else. We show Santa respect, don't we?" I smiled, a forced but convincing smile.

The girl, surprisingly, nodded. I took her hand and led her gently back to her mother.

When I looked back at Ronan, he was watching me, a glint in his eye. A silent approval, a silent triumph. He had tested me, and I had passed. Or perhaps, I had simply played directly into his hand. Either way, a strange spark ignited within me like the first flame of a roaring fire. But could I toast his nuts, or will I be left out in the snow?

The game had begun. And for the first time in a long time, I felt a pulse of something other than fear. I felt a thrilling, dangerous awareness. The excitement of Christmas had returned, but it was nothing like my childhood. Santa, let’s play where being naughty is oh so nice!

As the day went on, the chaos of the mall faded, replaced by the insistent thrum of my heartbeat. On my first day, Ronan was already asserting his dominance. The dream wasn't just a dream. It was a prelude, but am I truly ready to see what awaits under the tree?